Article author: Dan Rayner, Asatro News Director / Published: 5th day of Hærfest-mōnaþ 2264.RE / 5th day of September 2014

In the Forest of Falling Trees


When a tree is removed from its roots it is only a matter of delayed death if left.

When the water drains from the xylem, when the leafs curl, when orlog dissipates from the sap, it is almost inevitable, once you lose your roots, near certain death, environmental moisture and a vain attempt to re-root yourself into the mud of modernity or even the false, even more deadly poisoned, mud-enducing water of the Semitic Christians will not produce life, only your natural ancestral waters, those that you evolved within, that flow from the well of Urðr, Urðarbrunnr deep beneath Yggdrassil can sustain the life of the sons and daughters of the Æsir.

A tree requires its roots to survive, within the natural and spiritual environment of its ancestors, the same is true of our folk.

Without our roots we tree folk are nihilistic, without the understanding of our pure Germanic history and nature of spirit and sap, the elements essential for the survival of any tree folk, without our natural history and spirit to imbue our sap with strength and pride we are timber in waiting, for a short while we live and dwell in a nihilistic era of stagnation and pollution where you can become materialistic timber, furniture, worthless chip-boarding, or office desks for traitorous fools and genocidal vine-like parasites in the short period of time we call life, when you are torn from the roots of your ancestors and the branches and flowers that will one day bear the seeds of your descendants, without this natural chain, you are but timber in waiting, worthless, destined to rot or to be consumed alive by fire or buried alive in the rising mud, as the perfidious parasites promote as they drag and climb upon your limbs.

When in the forest of falling trees, if you are to survive, you must remember your ancient Yggdrassil spirit and that refined, natural spirit which sustains your enigmatic, elegant, extraordinarily pure life, know that the same principles reign true for you in everything you do.

In the forest of falling trees

In the forest of falling trees, where no trees have roots, where no roots have trees, where no roots are known and soon too with the trees, there stands defiant sprouts of a purer generation, born as the witnesses of the falling trees, who find their roots in the corpses and scorched earth of the generations before them that were fallen by their own rootlessness as the direct consequence of the manipulation and strangulation by perfidious parasites.

Drawing sustenance from the fallen and from ancient sap instincts, in the understanding of the knot of the fallen, the Valknut, comes strength to rise where entire past generations and nations have fallen, to let no same fate befall that defiant awakened generation of sprouts, each and every one of them the sons and daughters of Yggdrassil, juxtaposed to an era of rootlessness, as white knights bearing green leaves.


As many trees around us fall and shatter, become overgrown with parasitic weeds, as some collapse to the mud and drown in the mud-like genetic worthlessness of the forest floor, to rot and decay, there stands the many ash trees, bark white as the brightest night stars, that stand tall like mirrors to Yggdrassil herself, pure and untainted, standing in defiance of all, resilient and fast growing, easily adaptable, ready to be carved into war bows or to hold high great halls and artworks, the trees that bow before none, the purest and whitest of gate adorning trees, like Heimdallr, their oldest recorded ancestral progenitor, born of the blood of the sacred, ethereal, elegant Æsir themselves, our father, who art in our blood.


In the forest of falling trees, where no trees have roots, where no roots have trees, where no roots are known and soon too with the trees, there stands defiant sprouts of a purer generation, born as the witnesses of the falling trees, who find their roots in the corpses and scorched earth of the generations before them that were fallen by their own rootlessness as the direct consequence of the manipulation and strangulation by perfidious parasites.

Drawing sustenance from the fallen and from ancient sap instincts, in the understanding of the knot of the fallen, the Valknut, comes strength to rise where entire past generations and nations have fallen, to let no same fate befall that defiant awakened generation of sprouts, each and every one of them the sons and daughters of Yggdrassil, juxtaposed to an era of rootlessness, as white knights bearing green leaves.


As many trees around us lay in piles of threes, fallen to their knees, fallen via un-natural creeds that creep and reap like weeds amongst the souls of once great trees there but remains one generation of trees, that knows no decaying piles of threes, nor defeat upon their knees!

There but remains one generation of trees, rooted in defiance! rooted in the collapse of the past generations as much as in all generations past, learned of the mistakes of their weed-like creed infected generations past and learned of the name and inheritance of Heimdallr, our father, who art in our blood!

It falls with the weight of providence to these trees who hold ‘Æsir faith’, "Asatro", trees of solid root and strong branch, to hold upon their shoulders and their shoulders alone, the weight of the entire Northern forests, upon these plenty small a number o’ trees, of no more than twenty rings wide, to provide and to guide, with ancient purity of sap and white bark, the entire forest, until there is not a ash tree without roots nor a forest without ash trees.

In the future forest of proud trees, where all pure trees have roots, where all trees are pure, where roots are woven deep and pure, there stands defiant sprouts of the purest generation, as yet of unborn, by the decree of the Norn, as the witnesses of the rising dawn, who find their roots in the lighting blue skies and golden sunlit skies of the generation before them who rose tall through their own ash like purity of spirit and sap to uphold their entire forest, who secured for themselves the existence of our trees and a future for ash saplings because they saw that the beauty of Yggdrasil, the pure tree mother, must not perish from Midgard..

Drawing eternal sustenance from their sap and from ancient blood instincts, in the understanding of the knot of the fallen, the Valknut, comes strength to rise where entire past generations and nations have fallen, to let no same fate ever befall again each and every defiant awakened future generation of once again mighty Nordic & Germanic trees, each and every one of them the sons and daughters of Yggdrassil both mighty and small.

In an era where by the wills of white knights bearing green leaves, purity reigned supreme and thereafter forest fires returned to ash all weeds and perfidious parasites, Loki and his spawn defeated and Ragnarok depleted.

By the decree of the Norns and the resurgent existence of my extraordinary, enigmatic Æsir-folk may it be so.

Hail the Æsir

Hail the Vanir

Hail to the Ash trees, sons and daughters of Yggdrasil